Is there a memory you like the most?
When God called Kim or what they say on the West Coast.
Did Mephistopheles steal your heart,
When the gasoline fucked the question mark?
Did you lose the love you loved the most
When your finger print scarred her sacred throat?
You overdosed on sertraline and had your stomach pumped
Then drunk, you said you felt just fine.
Were you shuttling to Elysium,
When you lost your art and became a person?
Were you the genius who played the fool?
Hate to say, babe…you were hotter in highschool.
The second house in which I lived, had a skylight above the stairs. On this skylight, tens of large, grey moths found a permanent residence; a place to spend the night. Their fat and furry silhouettes were illuminated against the glow of the white glass window.
I was very scared of the months – I felt uneasy about walking up the stairs alone. I was four years old and I didn’t know much, but I trusted my instincts and felt that moths were not to be trusted.
In my teenage years I became very fond of this memory. My first love told me that their favourite word was ‘moth’ because it sounded like the feeling of having a thick doona shrouded around your head.
My love and connection with moths was confirmed when I found a very large, pretty green caterpillar and decided to keep it to see what it became. A moth with a wingspan of close to 10cm emerged and the moth showed my its art.
Since then, I have labelled my own art with ‘moth’.